The double glass doors to Samantha's office slammed open so hard the walls trembled.
Jake shot up from his desk outside, startled.
"Nick—"
But Nick didn't hear him.
He didn't hear anything.
His face was pale—white, ghost-like—eyes swollen and red as if he hadn't slept in days. His chest rose and fell in uneven, broken breaths as he marched down the hallway like a man walking into a storm he knew he wouldn't survive.
He didn't knock.
He didn't hesitate.
He shoved open Samantha's office door.
---
Samantha was at her desk, framed by the skyline, pen in hand, calmly reviewing a stack of restructuring reports. Her posture was straight, her breathing steady—untouchable as stone.
The kind of calm someone earns only after surviving hell.
She didn't look up at first.
But she felt him.
She always felt him.
"Nick," she said quietly, still flipping a page, "I'm in the middle of—"
Something small, fragile, and devastating hit the desk in front of her.
